The Gears of War
by Barbosa
Summary: [AU] A failed invasion leaves widespread destruction and millions of casualties. But all is not as it seems. As the citizens of earth attempt to pick up the pieces in the aftermath, an old face brings new threats which promise to push the Z Fighters to their limits and beyond.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

* * *

Rose had fond memories of Sherman's Shoes. The quaint little shoe shop with its rose-red bricks had sat on the corner of East Street and Hamilton for as long as she could remember.

She couldn't pinpoint the precise moment her innocent obsession began but she recalled being no taller than her mother's knee when a pair of red sandals had sparked her infatuation from their seat behind the window.

The store owner had a warm smile that had pulled at his middle aged features whenever he witnessed her childish enthusiasm.

He reminded her of his son, Junior, he'd tell her endlessly.

And when her mother finally relented to her endless begging and pouting… sheer unadulterated joy.

She'd worn those sandals with pride that summer.

Rose had been too young to notice the uniqueness of Sherman's Shoes. But as she grew older she noted the picturesque store was one of the few in North City that remained entirely untouched by the jaws of big business and she resolved to sustain it as she grew older.

High school and college were a blur of over-achievement and activism. Though her taste in shoes grew more sophisticated, her love for the place, the owner and his son endured. They'd remained at the forefront of her mind as she raged against big business and social injustices.

Junior in particular had captured her eye and she remembered with great fondness the trysts they'd delicately woven whenever she returned to North City and the quaint little store.

They wouldn't last forever, he'd move on but so would she.

Travel and teaching would capture heart. Over the next few years she'd see nearly all four corners of the globe and teach a thousand different faces in countless languages before she'd lay down roots back in North City.

She'd return to the store again to find Junior married with a young son and she'd smile sincerely and wish the family well.

She'd started a promising career at a local school and dedicated herself to touching the hearts and minds of everyone who stepped into her class room. She'd even order the perfect pair of shoes from her favourite store to commemorate her first day.

Sherman's Shoes was rubble now, along with half the city. Junior, his father and his family were all dead.

It was 10am on a Tuesday but Rose didn't preside over a sea of smiling faces. She sat in a pod in a relief camp somewhere outside the city, clutching a cup of strong coffee as if her life and sanity dependent on it. It was one of many camps erected by Capsule Corporation to house the thousands displaced in the attack.

On the opposite side of the miniscule table sat Bulma Briefs.

The one and only president of Capsule Corporation, multi-billionaire, genius, philanthropist and feminist icon. One of the few "good guys" of big business and corporate transnationalism. The great and untouchable.

Rose was far too emotionally exhausted to generate the excitement this woman so richly deserved, though Ms Briefs didn't seem the least bit perturbed. If anything she looked subdued, drained even, though still radiating with sheer presence.

She sat with her coffee clasped in both hands, legs crossed neatly, and finely attired in an expertly tailored dark pant suit. Her heels were polished to a shine and her pea coat was draped exquisitely over her chair. The picture of professionalism.

Beyond the walls of the pod she could just about make out the murmured chatter of a fleet of uncharacteristically sombre news media, no doubt desperate for a quote from the philanthropic heiress in the wake of the devastation.

On the few occasions Rose looked up from her coffee, she could see the sleep-depravation in the heiress' eyes. Though she couldn't muster any enthusiasm, there was at least one thing she could offer.

"Thank you, Ms Briefs, for… uh… all this."

Her eyes gestured wearily to the pod's spartan interior. There was a small table, two chairs and cot, far more than what remained of her modest apartment.

She offered a tired smile, which Ms Briefs returned warmly.

"It's no problem at all. It's important for all of us to come together at a time like this. And please, Rose, call me Bulma."

"I'm sorry, Ms… Bulma." She smiled. "But there's sticking together and then there's… well, the aid, the reconstruction, the…" she paused "…the burials."

The chilling spectre of death lingered in the air.

There had been few families lucky enough to survive the destruction. Most others were mourning loved ones. The most unlucky among them had lost everyone.

The camps had been host to a number of suicides.

"You've done so much."

"My father always told me that having wealth is pointless unless you do something useful with it. What could be more useful than this?"

"I… thank you, again."

"There's nothing to thank me for, it's the least I could do."

They both sipped their coffee. Whatever respect she had for Bulma Briefs had increased tenfold.

"I have to say, I'm surprised you decided to tour these camps."

"Well, I did pay for them."

Their hollow laughs echoed softly on the walls of the pod.

"I know, it's just… with the rumours going around the camps…"

"I don't pay attention to rumours." She responded, perhaps more curtly than she intended and she winced as Rose quailed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I thought the rumours were stupid anyway, especially after everything you've done for us." Bulma smiled. "So many lives have been lost."

"Did you lose anyone close to you?"

"I…"

"That was insensitive of me. Forgive me. I'm not very good at this kind of thing…"

"You're better than you think." Rose offered with a soft smile.

Ms Briefs reciprocated with a feint embarrassed blush on her pale cheeks.

"Truth be told I'm more comfortable in a lab than anywhere else. I just wanted to see for myself that the citizens of North City were being treated well. I can't imagine what you people have gone through."

Rose paused to sip her coffee.

"My mother…" she began. "She lived just outside of town… I haven't spoken to her since the attack."

"I'm sure she's fine. We can't lose hope."

"She raised me single-handedly, put me through school… She's a tough woman."

"She sounds like it." Ms Briefs offered, optimistically.

"Then there's the kids."

"You have children?"

"Oh… no. I was a teacher." she sighed. "West Bank Elementary…"

Ms Briefs had heard of it, at least Rose assumed she had if the sympathetic wince was anything to go by. News was relatively slow in the camps but the school had made national news. How could it not?

A brief silence hung in the air and Bulma sat attentively.

"Honestly, it was… surreal. It was just after lunch… just another day. We ran out of chalk so I went to get more… They were good kids, you know? You always get one or two troublemakers who just need some extra attention but… I trusted them."

Rose paused, wiping the tears she hadn't realised were streaming down her face.

"Then it just… happened. The explosion… twenty-six kids… dead. Plus faculty… my friends… At night I can still hear the alarms and the screams… see the smoke…" she sniffed, staring into her coffee. "The classroom was gone when I got back… just rubble and flaming desks… and… little bodies… the blood…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe if I'd have been there… What kind of teacher can't protect her students?"

"It wasn't your fault." Bulma stated, more firmly. "These things that attacked us, they're like nothing we've ever faced before. There's nothing you could have done."

They locked eyes briefly before Rose nodded, once again staring down at her coffee.

The meeting had continued for some time, the sheer… otherworldliness of conversing with a woman she admired helped assuage the anguish of recent events, at least for a little while.

Then flash of the heiress' phone had interrupted their meeting.

Bulma had apologised profusely for it, though she'd hastily taken her leave all the same. Rose had watched from the small window as the crowds gradually dispersed as the day went on. By evening, the camp's residents had once again been left alone to cope with their anguish.

Sleep would yet again be illusive for her.

 _"It wasn't your fault."_

She'd heard those same words so often that they'd become like white noise. Whether they came from Ms Briefs or other survivors, they did little to assuage the guilt or… _piece together_ the corpses of her annihilated students. Still…

 _"These things that attacked us, they're like nothing we've ever faced before."_

Rose was not one to keep her ears closed to the news. The activist inside her would not allow it.

The world had been awakened to the presence of the golden-haired fighters six years ago. Hundreds had perished in the android incident and the scale of the destruction had made international news, though most notable had been the heroics many had witnessed first-hand.

It was funny now to think of how… _insignificant_ that all seemed now.

Rose hadn't seen most of the attacks or the fighting. In her mind, virgin to warfare and clouded with shock, all she had witnessed was chaos at every turn, though she was sure those same golden fighters had been the deciding factor in their triumph. But the scale of loss ensured the absence of any of the hope and wonder the warriors had previously inspired. Controversy and uncertainty were all that remained.

It was this heavy weight of uncertainty, and not the explosions that had rocked her classroom, that kept her up tonight.

As she stared at the ceiling above her cot, Rose had a sinking feeling that there was more to come.

…

The Oceanfront detainment facility was a technical marvel. It was a subterranean mass of dense alloy meticulously arranged into complex corridors spanning multiple stories and spiraling deep into mountain rock.

It was situated on an island hundreds of miles from civilisation, the coordinates of which were classified, the activities within its walls even more so, but Isla Rami, Director of Section 33, was a privileged man.

He'd been impressed with the security detail on his initial tour, though he'd found the waiting room's clinically white interior to be something of an eyesore. Rami had always had a penchant for modern décor, so he'd requested a change. That had been six months ago. He'd been disappointed walk into the waiting room this morning to find a clinically white interior.

He'd calmly expressed his opinion, a disconcerting display for the administrators and security personnel, though he'd relented when he'd been fearfully informed that design selection was out of their hands and, thus, above his significant pay grade.

The latter had remained unsaid, though Director Rami was neither foolish nor unreasonable. Still, he could not tend to his pre-meeting affairs in a lobby that felt like an emergency room. To that end, he'd been provided with a temporary office on the east wing. It was among the few situated above ground with a sparse interior and simple décor the accentuated its island view.

The impenetrable panel window overlooked miles of lush forest, vast white beach, crystal clear waters, and clear blue sky. Rami absorbed the serenity with a deep, calming breath that shifted his broad shoulders and rolled his powerful frame. Mountains and plateaus with green-tipped peaks skirted the horizon to his right, while a simple jet-pad hangar sat patiently below the panel window.

He regarded the latter with severe inquisition.

Behind him sat a brown manila envelope on the immaculately polished office desk, its secrets spilled for privileged eyes to see. And to his left stood his assistant, Zuli, immaculately presented as always, with blue eyes, feathered, jet black hair and clutching her boss' cup of heavily milked and sweetened hazelnut coffee.

Director Rami retrieved his drink and took a long exquisite sip.

"This roast is delicious." His voice was deep, raspy and carried a light island accent. "Do you know where it's from?" He turned his steely eyes to his assistant.

She looked notably less enthused, being used to his numerous eccentricities, though she stood to attention none the less.

"The coffee? If I were to guess I'd say the cafeteria, Sir."

"I see you're a comedian now."

"Just trying to lift your spirits. You know the world was burning just a week ago."

"I hadn't heard. And your tits lift my spirits just fine."

"You have such a way with words."

"And you have an interesting interpretation of your job description."

"I like to go above and beyond."

"Indeed."

Director Rami sipped his coffee and turned his penetrating grey gaze back to the hangar.

"Where's Ms Briefs?"

"In transit. ETA 12:15 according to her pilot."

"We're scheduled for 12:25… that won't leave us much time for pleasantries and chit chat."

"I don't think there'd be any 'pleasantries' regardless, considering the circumstances."

"Shame. In my country, it's customary to make pleasant chit chat before we attend to business. This job can be so stressful."

"My heart bleeds for you, Sir."

He paused thoughtfully.

"How many casualties?"

"Thirty-seven million at the last official count and even more wounded. They're still pulling bodies from the wreckage in Central City and Jewel Coast was wiped completely off the map."

Rami absorbed the view once again. As his refined copper features and dark hair glowed in the bright sunlight, he was suddenly very aware of the sharp contrast between this paradise and the devastation he'd seen first-hand.

"I knew something like this would happen eventually."

"We won, though."

Bless his protégé and her naivety.

"Let me rephrase. I've been _waiting_ for something like this to happen. And no, we didn't win."

"Forgive me, Sir, but we managed to repel the invasion. The world was saved."

"By Son and his merry band of freaks. Meanwhile, we were massacred. Military casualties alone were ten million and if it wasn't for our accord with Ms Briefs we'd never have gotten custody of our guest. Hell, if she had not donated her resources so generously to our projects, we wouldn't even have this facility."

Rami's stance hardened as he observed the view once again, this time, however, it was not in admiration. Zuli's meteoric rise, indeed her career, had been predicated on an innate ability to read her colleagues and superiors. In the two years she'd spent under the tutelage of the eccentric Director, she'd developed a precise gauge of his moods. It was one of a number of traits that made her excellent at her job.

"I heard that was a battle in of itself." She commented.

"Not really. Ms Briefs was not so foolish as to deny the many benefits of this facility. Obtaining our guest, on the other hand, was more challenging. Perhaps I'll regale you with the story some time."

"I plan on holding you too that." She offered with a smirk. "And I'll have the doctor push the interrogation back to make room for… 'pleasantries'."

"Don't bother." Rami countered with a wave of his large hand. "Ms Briefs isn't the friendliest woman when it comes to the government. She wouldn't bond with us on the best of days, much less after an alien invasion."

"She's vulnerable." Zuli's face flashed with comprehension.

"The woman is cosy with a world famous and much beloved group of superpowered aliens and one of their own just slaughtered forty-million people. With a PR nightmare like that, I'd be vulnerable too."

"So the rumours…?" she enquired tentatively.

"Complete and utter bullshit. But they matter."

"Wasn't she the one who proposed this initial cooperation with us?"

"Out of necessity."

"Sir?"

The Director sighed internally, disappointed at his assistant's lack of comprehension, though he supposed it had been before her tenure within this government, much less Section 33.

"Gero's experiment exposed our military weaknesses. If it wasn't for Son and his Saiyan friends we'd probably all be dead, but, 'good guys' or not, the kind of power they have is dangerous."

"The kind of power that attracts attention from the big bad government."

"Right. We weren't about to go to war with a group of superpowered aliens, much less ones who had just saved us, but we couldn't leave that kind of power unchecked either. Ms Briefs recognised that so we came to a resolution. We left them to act with relative freedom under Ms Briefs' supervision, we gave them a few concessions and gained a few of our own in return."

Zuli's face flashed in realisation.

"Project Sky?"

"Project Sky."

"So you basically created superheroes." She chuckled.

"What?"

"The golden-haired warriors. The men of steel, the phenomena."

Rami's lip curled in distaste as his assistant's eyes danced with amusement.

"You know, it sounds incredibly crass when you say it like that. Besides, Son and his friends created their own legend after the Android incident. We simply sold them to the world."

He was right. The very public defeat of Dr Gero's experiment had practically eliminated any possibility Section 33 may have had to conceal the incident. They'd had no choice but to allow the legend to flourish, albeit with a modicum of control. Not even the capture of Dr Gero could strengthen their positon.

But still…

"That doesn't sound like dealing with us was a necessity. Ms Briefs had all the cards plus a squeaky clean reputation. We couldn't hope to touch her. Why would she need to make any kind of deal with us, much less one as significant as Sky?"

"You're forgetting Ms Briefs is a businesswoman." Rami countered. "Risk assessment is business. She had all the cards _then and there_ but anything can happen in the future. Think about what one rogue scientist was able to accomplish with only a fraction of our resources, a serious grudge and a few years of isolation."

"Thirteen." Zuli realised

"The monster himself." Rami concurred.

"We couldn't be left alone."

"Precisely." Rami paused to sip his coffee. "Don't forget their victory over Thirteen far from a rout. She feared what we could eventually accomplish with our considerable resources. We may have had a far weaker hand back then but ignoring us would've been a fatal mistake."

"So, she could either work with us or their entire group would eventually be in the firing line."

"Exactly. But we were weak at the time… technically we still are. Briefs smelled blood in the water and bit like a good corporate shark is want to do."

"And cut a deal that allowed her to hold on to her significant amount of freedom." Zuli finished. "I'm impressed."

"You should be. She's an extraordinary woman... if you ignore the fact that her entire group are a threat to the safety of the planet."

"Even so, I'm surprised you managed to get Project Sky out of the deal."

"Sounds like you lack faith in your government." Rami smirked.

"No amount of faith changes the fact we're still hopelessly unarmed. Even if she had to cooperate with us, I have a hard time believing the Capsule Corporation _president_ would give us something so substantial considering the bargaining power she had."

"You're half right."

She gave him an inquisitive look.

"Bulma Briefs is a smart woman. If any of the knowledge she so graciously bestowed upon us is true then she recognises the benefits of a self-sufficient planet and military. Regardless of what she thinks of us, improving our military and infrastructure is invaluable to this planet."

Director Rami quirked a brow and gave her a mischievous smile at her look of inquisition. There was that curiosity he loved.

"What kind of information…?"

"Just some stuff about space travel and egomaniacal alien emperors. Classified information above your pay grade." He dangled that last carrot with a wink and a smirk. He knew this would come up again at some point in the future. "What's important is Gero's android was scrap metal by the time Son was finished with him. And since such valuable technology was no longer useful..."

"She was forced to help us directly."

A nugget of pride shone beneath the Director's neutral gate. She was learning.

"Know thine enemy. Understand his temperament, glean knowledge of his weaknesses and exploit them."

"Profound."

"'The March'. Insightful book, I'll lend it to you some time."

"So that was enough to get Bulma to cooperate?"

"Yes… and no."

"Hmm?"

"Bulma had a good hand but she wasn't the only one holding all the cards."

The nugget crumbled at her look of perplextion, though Rami couldn't help his amusement at her blank stare and he returned the gaze with a humoured glance.

"You enjoy confusing me, don't you?"

"It's one of the few perks of this job."

Behind the window pane, a sudden gust of intense wind shifted the trees and swept dust and across the forest floor. Rami and his assistant observed attentively as the sleek black jet copter descended onto the pad. The sun reflected softly on the weathered black metal and Capsule Corporation logo shone with pride.

From the belly of the impressive machine stepped Bulma Briefs. Even from the distance her presence was unmistakable, the professional attire and polished heels added endless stature to her petite frame.

Speak of the devil…

"Zuli." His assistant snapped to attention. "Be a dear and tell the good Dr Wheelo to prep our guest for interrogation. Ms Briefs has arrived."

"Of course, Sir."

Their impromptu lesson on the subtleties of politics would have to wait. Director Rami adjusted his navy suit, finished the last of his coffee with a sharp gulp and tossed the cup into a nearby trashcan.

Zuli turned to leave, then the manila envelope on the polished desk caught her eye.

"I don't suppose you plan on sharing those files with me…" she enquired mischievously.

He gave her a knowing smirk, which only piqued her curiosity.

"These?" He collected the envelope. "I told you I'd been waiting for something like this to happen. Let's just say I conducted some independent research on our guest in Z-wing."

"What did you find?"

Director Rami locked eyes with his assistant and smiled.

"Leverage."

* * *

 ** _The Gears of War_**

* * *

 _Those of you who've read my previous fic, Warriors, will know that this is a re-write._

 _I've read a lot of great DBZ stories but, barring Drathkul's magnificent 'The Long Road' (check it out if you haven't already) the whole 'Gohan kidnapping' plot device has been surprisingly neglected, so I thought I'd throw my ideas out there and see how it goes._

 _Just as a warning, this will be an AU with a number of significant differences from the show. For one, power levels and transformations will no longer be the deus ex machina we see in the anime._

 _Let me know what you think._

 _Barbosa_


	2. Oceanfront I

_**Oceanfront**_

* * *

"Forty-million people dead, thirty million of them civilians. Four cities destroyed, two more reduced to ashes… You're quite the precocious young man, aren't you?"

The director's rich, baritone voice echoed thickly against the walls of the interrogation chamber as he addressed their prisoner.

A week ago he'd been the architect of mankind's dismantling. News reports on the day had been fragmented amidst the apocalyptic chaos but a lucky few cameramen had survived long enough to capture fractured videos of his decisive confrontation.

The fires of Central City had illuminated his armour with an etheral glow.

Today, Bulma observed, he was a teenager no older than sixteen or seventeen, standing behind a thick wall of Capsule Corp patented iron-glass and heavily restrained by millions of zenni worth of custom equipment. The contrast would have been laughable had the circumstances not been so severe.

"I must admit," the director continued "when I heard we'd captured the creature responsible for this mess, I was expecting someone a little more… seasoned."

The alien, for his part, fixed Rami with a silent stare, one she was sure would burn through the cell had his power not been heavily suppressed.

As much as she longed to lead the questioning herself, she knew she did not have the authority to do so. Her substantial financial and technological donations over the years had enabled her to leverage an advisory contract with Section 33.

That had been all she needed, she'd foolishly thought. She would lend the government her expertise in dealing with superpowered threats and allow them to take the lead in intelligence gathering, and they would grant her free access to Oceanfront, a say in its governance and unrestricted access to all its 'assets' in return.

Short of helping to develop a self-sufficient planet, she hadn't cared much for her benefits. The deal was simply a method of keeping Director Rami and Section 33 away from her loved ones. As powerful as her childhood friend was, he was incredibly naive and hopelessly ill-equipped to recognise this kind of danger.

She'd never once considered one of those assets could one day be her best friend's son.

Today she cursed her short-sightedness, watching impotently as that the very same government official interrogated a boy who could prove to be their undoing.

"What's your name?" the director enquired.

The alien remained silent.

His hair was wild and unruly, just like his father's, with thick bangs that framed his dark, pearlescent eyes. Rebellious black locks fell heavily over his shoulders and coated a torso stripped of fat and dense with muscle. Unlike his father, however, he was surprisingly lean considering the sheer power he so effortlessly wielded.

His rich copper tan told stories of adventure while thick scars wove tales of trauma. Most of them were old, she noted, one in particular she was sure had come from the sharp edge of a bladed weapon. What little untouched skin that remained held the remnants of his clash with his father a week earlier.

"Ah, forgive me. Being a guest on this planet, you're probably unaware of our cordialities. It is customary in my country for both parties to introduce themselves before engaging in conversation."

The alien held his glare.

"My name is Isla Rami. I am the Director of this facility. The lovely woman to my right is Ms Bulma Briefs, President of Capsule Corporation and de facto chief of security here. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

The alien's eyes flicked briefly to her before returning to him.

"You do have a name, don't you?"

Silence.

"Or perhaps you are shy, I find it hard to believe one as powerful as yourself does not have a moniker or a title. Perhaps we should give you one. How about El Diablo?"

Silence.

"No? I thought it would be fitting considering the number of people who burned to death when your pyromaniac brute attacked Jewel Coast.

Silence.

"What about the butcher of the Central City? Seven million people died there when you wiped it from existence, after all."

Silence.

"The Butcher of West Bank? I believe your troops destroyed an elementary school there."

Silence.

"Ah. I have another one. How about… Gohan?"

Pearlescent black eyes narrowed ever so slightly for the first time.

"That is your name, isn't it? Son Gohan, estranged offspring of Son Goku?" Director Rami gestured to his precious classified files in his right hand. "Our resident physician, Dr Wheelo, helped himself to a sample of your DNA while you slept. Forgive the intrusion, we don't normally engage in such terrible violations of privacy, but there were a number of theories that needed to be confirmed."

So he knew. Bulma couldn't help but curse internally despite the severity of the situation.

After an eternity of silent observation, the alien's lips curled into the faintest smile.

"You know, your planet has a reputation."

"Do we now?"

"Huge red 'x' on the IND data file; 43567 atmosphere ranking, undocumented species, 10.4 risk classification, one of the few official no-fly zones in the north quadrant."

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm not familiar with this galactic data file. I find numbers to be soulless and boring anyway. But I had no idea we were so infamous."

"You wouldn't suspect it from such an insignificant spec but some of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy come here and just… _die_."

"And yet you still decided to visit. You must have been _very_ curious."

"It's my one weakness. I was disappointed though."

"Well you did suffer a resounding defeat."

The alien ignored the goading.

"I was hoping to meet some kind of advanced military, maybe some sophisticated technology or even some dangerous undocumented species, something interesting to justify the classification."

"Did the super saiyans not meet your expectations?"

"Super saiyans are boring. 'Power' is boring. Your planet and its people are weak, surprisingly resilient but insignificant all the same. If it wasn't for my father your armies would be in ashes."

"Yes, your _father_ and his friends… it seems his reputation precedes him, even in the depth of space."

"He killed a tyrant. Allegedly."

"Frieza."

"You've heard of him? Then again I guessed my father or the 'prince' would've given your people a lot to work with."

"Ah yes, Prince Vegeta. He was particularly vocal about his hatred. Though, unlike your father, he didn't seem disturbed by his body count."

Bulma's face betrayed no hint of her sudden anxiety.

"He wouldn't be…" The alien responded suggestively.

"It sounds like the two of you are acquainted."

"I'm acquainted with his reputation. I thought he was another victim of this backwater chunk of rock before I came here myself."

"Clearly this 'backwater rock' doesn't kill every creature it comes into contact with."

"Terrible, isn't it?"

"For you, maybe. If my meticulously planned invasion was crushed under his heel, I'd be bitter too."

"You have no idea who he is, do you? The things he's done… Makes me wonder why I'm the one in chains-"

"And he isn't?" Director Rami interjected.

"I don't know Vegeta personally but I know his kind. Whatever circumstances led to him laying roots on this planet, you and I both know he didn't come here with noble intentions. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous of his freedom."

"We have an accord with the prince. He provided us with vital information-"

"And you give him amnesty for all his past crimes."

"Politics." Rami offered conclusively.

The derisive chuckle echoed off the walls of the cell.

"Well you may be hopelessly weak but you've definitely mastered corrupt governance."

"It's ugly but necessary." Rami chuckled. "Besides, I think you'd be impressed with just how much information we've acquired."

"If your intelligence division is anything like your military, I'm not holding my breath."

Director Rami smiled.

"We have enough information to know that forty million people pales in comparison to the atrocities this 'Frieza' has committed. And we're experienced enough to know that he isn't the only being out there to possess that kind of power or have such nefarious intentions. Perhaps you have a few more atrocities to your name."

"Oh, you have _no_ idea…"

"Perhaps you'd like to share them with us. You worked for Frieza, did you not?"

The teen's eyes darkened ever so slightly.

"Did I touch a nerve? Your uncle worked for him, didn't he? He tore you away from your family when you were still a toddler and carried you off into space… It stands to reason that you would have joined him."

Silence.

"You see, we may not have much strength, like you said, but we do have technology, and murderous tyrants such as _yourself_ are the reason why we build facilities like this."

The director strode confidently to the cell, scant inches from its prisoner, and matched his glare with one of his own.

"As it stands, your army has been defeated and your lieutenants are dead. Your powers have been completely suppressed, thanks to Ms Briefs, and the facility is impenetrable. There are roughly three-billion people on this planet who would love to meet the being responsible for destroying their lives and see his head paraded through the streets, three hundred of whom work in this very facility, and I can think of at least three individuals who are more than capable of playing executioner in your current state."

"You think I'm afraid of death?" The alien enquired darkly. "I've faced it more times than I can count, killed warriors whose power you couldn't begin to fathom."

"And yet here you are, stuck on a backwater chunk of rock and at the mercy of weaklings."

The tension in the chamber grew to suffocating levels. Bulma assumed the teen would explode with impotent rage at the directors goading. To her surprise, he spoke with an eerie calmly.

"Larz." He declared.

"I'm sorry?"

"My name." He began, shoulders relaxing. "My uncle gave it to me. It's an old saiyan word they used for my _kind_. It's Larz."

Rami looked to Bulma and Bulma looked right back.

"I'm assuming this means your cooperation?"

"Consider it restitution for the lives lost."

"I don't think you have enough information to pay that debt."

Playfulness danced in the boy's eyes.

"Humour me."

Bored at her impotent observation, Bulma spoke up for the first time.

"How did you hear that name?" She asked.

If the director was concerned at the sudden loss of control, he showed no indication.

"My father, Kakarot."

"His name is Goku."

"His name is irrelevant. Uncle Raditz told me everything I needed to know about him."

"That he was weak?"

"Pure bloods are so predictable." Larz scoffted. "I thought it was bullshit, like everything else he taught me… He turned out to be right though."

Bulma was confused.

"Your father is one of the strongest people in the universe."

"Based on what, exactly? His power?" Larz spat dismissively. "I've seen thousands of warriors who were physically strong and they died all the same. Raw strength will only take you so far."

"I've known him for more than twenty years, time after time he's overcome the most impossible odds through sheer force of will. What could he possibly lack?"

"Ruthlessness."

"Ruthlessness?" She spat incredulously. "The kind of ruthlessness that compels a _boy_ to murder forty-million people?"

He looked her square in the eye.

"I would have bathed in the blood of a billion if it would achieve my goals. My father lacks that strength of character and it nearly killed him."

A shilling silence appeared between the two. Director Rami observed the exchange with a practiced reticence that betrayed none of his concern. It was clear that the heiress talent for business did not translate into interrogation, either that or her agenda was different to his own. As interesting as it was to observe the dynamic between Ms Briefs and this violent creature, he needed information and this exchange was becoming entirely too personal.

"Speaking of saiyans, where is your uncle?" he interjected. "I'm surprised he wasn't with you for this."

"Dead."

"Shame. It would have been interesting to meet him.

"How did he die?" Bulma asked.

"I killed him."

There was a deathly silence. Given the scale of his crimes and her acquaintance with Vegeta, she shouldn't have been surprised at the casual manner in which he discussed murder. But this boy wasn't Vegeta.

He was Goku's _son_.

"Why?" she asked.

"Does it matter?"

Rami changed the subject.

"You had a thousand men."

"Nine-hundred and forty-seven actually. Including my squadron."

"Either way, it's a poultry sum considering Earth's supposed classification."

Larz's ground troops lacked any notable strength compared to his lieutenants, however, they'd lain waste to two cities under his command before the military had been able to push them back.

"I did what I could with what I had. I'll admit, I was worried we were ill-prepared but we did better than expected."

Forty million people…

"Why?" Bulma asked. "What was the purpose of all of this?"

"Establishing an empire of your own?" Rami chimed in. "Frieza is long gone and you certainly are powerful enough. Or perhaps the idea of conquering an unchartered planet was too much for a saiyan like you to resist."

Larz's eyes narrowed.

"Don't confuse me for one of them."

"You're a saiyan, though, aren't you? You speak like them, you have the blood flowing through your veins. The manifest destiny of your people is strife and bloodshed." Rami's eyes hardened. "Even for one as young as yourself, I imagine your hands are soaked in the blood of billions."

"Spilling blood for a purpose is not the same as the senseless slaughter of billions for something as trivial as conquest or testing your strength." Larz countered. "The pure bloods were monsters and they paid for their barbarism."

"Hypocritical, don't you think?" Bulma struggled to maintain her calm demeanour. The way he so casually dismissed the consequences of his destruction…the arrogance… "How do you justify this?"

"More importantly, when can we expect the second attack?" the director added.

Larz responded with a bitter laugh.

"A thousand troops was _all_ I had and your namekian wiped them out. I was the most powerful warrior for a thousand systems and I lost emphatically to a pathetic clown and a dead man. My crew were among the elite fighters in the galaxy he cut through them like lac-sauce. My ship was destroyed. I'm injured and imprisoned on an alien world with no power or communication."

He looked the Director square in the eye.

"If anyone I know is coming for me, it won't be on a rescue mission. I can promise you that."

"It sounds like this was a hail-Mary for you."

"I don't know what that means… but you could say it was a last resort."

"Why?" asked Bulma. She was growing impatient at his reticence.

Larz's face briefly twitched into a thoughtful scowl, which did not go unnoticed by the Director or the Capsule Corporation president.

"Like I said, earth is a place where powerful beings die. Whatever secrets your planet held, I needed to acquire them by any means necessary."

"And you decided hostility was the only way."

"10.4 threat classification." He reminded them. "I had no idea what to expect, especially with the reputation that precedes our kind. Diplomacy has never worked for me so I take by force. Aggression is the most effective method for getting what I want."

The room sank into a brief silence, as if Bulma and the Director were absorbing his testimony. She would admit that Larz and the Director had been right about one thing, Vegeta was one of many beings with remarkable power who came to Earth with evil intentions and Bulma had witnessed them all.

She'd been there when Raditz had snatched young Gohan away and turned him into… this creature. She'd been there when both Vegeta and Nappa had followed a year later, and she'd witnessed first-hand King Cold's failed bid for revenge nearly five years after that.

Those incidents had all been inextricably linked to Goku in one way or another. It was a tragically ironic to think that the villain who had dealt the planet its biggest blow had done so without any personal vendetta. The Director's voice shook her from her reverie.

"You're a super saiyan." It was more a statement than a question. "I've seen what your kind are capable of and I saw what your lieutenants could do. You could've handled this invasion without an army."

"That wasn't their main purpose."

"Then what was?" Bulma asked.

"Occupation." The director chimed in. Larz nodded in confirmation.

"I initially split my force in half, one half for the bulk of the invasion and the rest to hold the planet. Those mission parameters changed when I discovered my father lived here."

"But this planet was supposedly a mystery. How could you have known?"

"I didn't." He responded. "I just knew any planet robust enough to mark the grave of Kind Cold had to be home to at least one or two beings of extraordinary power. I only discovered it was him when he confronted me."

"And you needed to eliminate that threat to ensure your invasion would be successful."

"So you sent your troops in first." Bulma added

"To test your planet's strength. Draw out your military and your strongest fighters. They didn't disappoint but my father did."

"He was off world."

"That explains why I couldn't sense anyone powerful." Larz responded. She wouldn't tell him they could suppress their power levels. "My crew and I observed the invasion. I knew whoever it was that killed King Cold would reveal himself so I decided to wait. His dwarf friend assured me that he'd return and he didn't disappoint."

Krillen… Bulma's eyes narrowed. His injuries had been horrific.

"And what went wrong?" Rami inquired.

"For one I underestimated the strength of your military. At least, in comparison to my own troops. Insignificant as they may be, the minor details count."

Rami's thoughts drifted to the ten-million troops who laid down their lives in defence of the planet. They'd fought a losing battle almost from start to finish.

"Then there was your namekian. I hadn't expected to run into one all the way out here, let alone one so strong. When he arrived he occupied my crew effortlessly, which left my army in disarray. Plus I didn't plan on my fight with my father being one-on-one. As fun as it was, I don't go into death battles without a backup plan."

"And then Vegeta arrived." Bulma declared, almost prideful.

"He blindsided me then sliced through my crew without a second thought. Suddenly I'm alone with no crew and no troops. The mission is a clusterfuck and I'm left alone against two super saiyans, which is one more than I can handle-"

"And now you're here."

Larz chuckled.

"And now I'm here."

Rami and Bulma looked at each other. They were silent for a few moments, almost in mutual thought at the plausibility of his testimony but Rami nodded.

"You certainly were in a cooperative mood." Rami began, eyes hardening. "Though I fail to see how this is restitution for the lives you've taken. What could possibly justify this slaughter?"

Larz's brows creased in thought.

"We were running from something, my crew and I." He began. "We've been doing that for the past half-cycle… one of your earth years. I needed distance and time so I could make a plan. So I could find a way to kill it."

The sudden tension was overwhelming.

"What were you running from?" Rami demanded.

"There are things in this universe far more horrifying than a super saiyan." He began. "I was running from that."

"From what?"

His glare was unwavering, shifting between his hosts.

"A monster."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_


	3. Oceanfront II

_**Oceanfront**_

* * *

It hadn't been the blow to Goku's stomach that had debilitated him, though he remembered the way it had rocked his solar plexus and rattled his organs.

The kick that had followed was equally savage. He'd crashed through two buildings, rubble and glass raining in his wake, before the slick asphalt had shattered beneath him.

He'd laid in his crater, staring unseeingly at the red, sobbing night sky as his assailant arced over the collapsing buildings and plummeted towards him with murderous speed - a golden wraith with a primal shriek in its throat and an aura that illuminated the blood-stained sky and smoked with sheets of vaporized rain.

" _Gohan…"_ he'd wheezed, then their collision cratered the street.

The shockwave rippled concrete and jolted buildings from their very foundations.

Goku wasn't sure how many miles of concrete, sewer and earth they'd ploughed through but he vividly remembered the way his body broke against every yard of rock, piping and metal. It'd been a week but as Goku lay sleeplessly in his bed he could still feel the phantom cracking of his sternum beneath the force of his son's knee.

 _His son…_

Goku had known it was him.

He'd returned to earth after a month long excursion to find his planet had become a warzone. Barely a second after the Sky ship had broken through the atmosphere had Goku burst through the hull and raced towards the source of the desolation.

The ship had crashed harmlessly into the ocean in his wake.

Goku had soared through the blackened, smoke-filed skies, ruthlessly suppressing the exhaustion from his journey and steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation when he'd felt it.

It had been nearly thirteen years since he'd last sensed it, since he'd failed… but that energy had been rooted firmly into his mind since he'd first felt its faint flutter emanating from his wife's womb. That once faint spark had now grown into a roaring inferno that crackled a raw power that dwarfed even Frieza's.

Gohan was home.

What's more he'd been waiting for him, hovering ominously over the Central City skyline, donned an alien armour that gleamed crimson under the fires he wrought.

Thick black smoke had filled the skies. The air had been alive with sirens, roaring flames and screams of distress. To his left, a building had collapsed with a sudden crescendo of noise and rubble. To his right, the windows of a skyscraper burst under the intense heat of the fires consuming it. A breeze ruffled his thick black locks and eradiated his face with an artificial warmth. And ahead of him, floated his son…

After more than a decade of guilt, pain and regret, dreaming night after night of holding his son in his arms again, after admonishing his own weakness and witnessing his wife's spiritual death. After pulling his family together by sheer force of will and finally laying his son's ghost to rest… there he was.

" _Dad…"_ had been his curt greeting.

He was taller than he remembered. The air of menace was also new. In that moment, the eyes that once beamed brightly at him with such trust and adoration were stony in resignation. His face had been twisted into a culpable grimace that contrasted sharply with Goku's wide-eyed perplextion.

Seeing him again had been the debilitating blow.

Goku was powerful. When Frieza had hurt his loved ones on Namek, he'd risen to the challenge and defeated him. When his father had sought revenge for the insult, his response had been swift and ruthless. And when Android 13 had rampaged his way cross the eastern continent, he'd answered the call for a hero and proved his valour.

Decades of training had honed his skill and enhanced his power to levels he'd never dreamt of. Conflict and challenge made his blood stir but his battle senses had been completely overwhelmed by the implausibility of his eldest son's presence.

He'd floated there, utterly perplexed and overflowing with indiscernible emotions, struggling to form words. Then Gohan had wordlessly transformed in a crescendo of golden light and ploughed a fist into his stomach.

The fight had been one-sided.

He remembered bursting bodily from his would-be subterranean tomb in a shower of rubble, soaring high above the ruins with the embers of Gohan's ki singing his pale skin. He remembered each and every blow that sent him soaring through concrete and metal.

Then he remembered laying in the street with an index finger extended scant inches from his eyes and the tip twinkling brightly with what would be his death. He'd looked into his son's eyes that night and found them bereft of humanity and mercy.

" _You disappointed me, Dad."_

Vegeta had chosen that moment to jump into battle, driving his knee into his son's head.

The words still haunted him though. Insomnia had been an infrequent companion since that night.

It was 4am and he tossed and turned, still feeling phantom blows, smelling phantom odours of metal, blood, sweat and concrete.

He turned to watch the peaceful face of his sleeping wife and wondered… should he tell her?

As far as she'd known it had just been another villain they'd defeated a week ago, no different from the androids or the saiyans or King Kold. If she knew it had been Gohan…

" _You disappointed me, Dad…"_

Goku had suffered greatly since the loss of their son. His guilt had almost consumed him, the sense of powerlessness equally so. To realise that the monumental strength he'd gained over the years was meaningless when placed next to the vast expanses of the universe was frustrating.

Still, when needed, Goku rallied and became the hero his friends needed him to be. From Vegeta and Nappa to Frieza and King Cold, his fanatical devotion to the safety of his friends and his home had been enough to pull him from his personal anguish. It had been the birth of his second son that had allowed him to finally lay Gohan's ghost to rest.

Chi-Chi, on the other hand…

Her pain had been something he could barely begin to understand.

That had been another of his failings, only he'd had no clue how to fix it.

Problems were clear cut for Son Goku. If he was weak he would train until he was strong, if he was hungry he would hunt, if his brother had kidnapped his son, he would search the galaxy until he found him. The difficulty of the task was only determined by the size of the obstacle in his path, be that a powerful opponent or the universe itself.

Vegeta often mocked him for his simplistic view of the world. Bulma was just as critical, though at times she also said it was endearing.

Emotions were not so clear cut.

He'd overcome Nappa and Vegeta, physically broken and near crippled, only to return home to a non-existent marriage and find his wife wasting away. He'd trained under King Kai, desperate for the strength to protect his friends and find his son, but a year is all it had taken for Chi-Chi to spiral into a pit of depression.

Strength could not protect Chi-Chi. That had been an obstacle too complex for Goku to overcome alone.

He looked over to his wife once more, healthier over the last few years than he had ever seen her, and wondered if telling her about their son would send her spiralling into another pit of depression. Then the feint early morning sun crept through the window.

It was all it took for Goku to suppress his internal conflict. He gave up on sleep for the night. It was fine though, early mornings were the most peaceful time to train.

He considered waking Goten, the six year old was quickly getting the hang of flying, and Goku was sure he'd become stronger than he was one day, but he decided against it. As much as he loved spending time with his family, Goten needed rest and Goku needed clarity.

Visiting Krillen would be a painful reminder of what Gohan had become.

Visiting Bulma would be just as painful. He would try, once again, to see his son.

…

The Lookout's pristine tiles gleamed sharply in the mid-morning sun. The palm trees swayed lazily as the courtyard was beset by a gentle breeze, offsetting the early summer warmth and ruffling Mora's guardian cloak and ceremonial medallion.

He'd held the post for five years, of which the first two were spent acclimatizing to Earth's striking environment. The Yardrati utopia he'd left behind had been bereft of the microscopic irritants that plagued him when he'd first arrived. But the adjustment process had been worth it. Now he had developed a deep appreciation for the beauty of the planet.

He'd taken a particular liking to a group of mountains situated east of the lookout. Most would scarcely be able to make out the silhouette in the horizon but his large Yardratian eyes did far more than decorate his face.

The mountain peaks skirted the horizon, rising endlessly into the bright blue sky, capped with dustings of snow and capturing clouds in their grasp. They were sparsely dressed in tufts of green and patched with lush shades of reds, yellows, oranges and blues.

Small villages, settlements and cobbled trails dotted their shallow ascents, mingling harmonically with the curious wildlife occupying their steeper climbs. At the base grew miles of untamed woodland that thinned to reveal acre upon acre of naked green. Towns and farms dotted the land and the idyllic peace seemed to tame even the more vicious creatures.

Mora would begin most days observing the view in quiet contemplation. Watching the small rural population in their isolated settlements gave him a deep appreciation for the scale of the monumental task he'd been given. Today, however, his brows creased heavily as he scrutinised the package Popo had left for him.

The embroidered black sack sat open in his lap and his brows creased in inquisition at its contents.

Just over a week ago he'd encountered his first true challenge as guardian of earth when one of its former sons had returned to conquer it. For weeks prior to this event, he'd detected a strange current of ki mingling with this star system's natural flow of energy but the interference was so small and so utterly dwarfed by the nefarious intent he'd detected from the coming threat that he'd set aside his concerns.

In the space of a few hours this former son, Gohan as the heroes had called him, had brought unfathomable pain and suffering to the planet's inhabitants, most notably to Goku.

Mora had stretched his senses to the battlefield and detected so much pain and internal conflict from his closest friend, yet he'd still proved his heroism and, along with Vegeta, had found the inner strength to prevail. Mora had been pleased despite his concern for Goku's psychological wellbeing and the damage done to his companions and the planet itself.

But still the strange current of ki remained even after their victory.

The casualties had been significant after the invasion but his faithful servant Popo had reminded him there was a means on earth by which to undo the damage.

Dragonballs, they called them, and there were seven in total. He had been on earth long enough to have been made aware of their existence, though the opportunity to study them had not yet presented itself. When gathered, they would summon a mighty dragon who would grant the triumphant individual who had collected them a single wish.

The dragon's power seemed… omnipotent, his abilities even crossing the divide between life and death.

The yardrats were capable of manipulating time and space with their energy but even their most powerful techniques had always been a natural extension of their unique ki. What's more, the effects had always been constrained within the living world and their own realm. The dragonballs on the other hand seemed to be pure magic, divine as this may be, and this magic grossly interfered with the natural order of life and death.

Mora was a pragmatist. Despite the… divine realities of his post, to be yardrati was to be fiercely logical. He liked what he knew and if there was anything pertaining to his role that he did not understand, he'd toil tirelessly until he did. There had been many times in his five year tenure where Popo had almost dragged him away from the lookout's great library to rest.

The dragonballs were a phenomenon Mora did not fully understand. What's more he recognised not only the ethical dangers of his predecessor's legacy but their spiritual implications as well.

The mantle of Earth's guardian granted one an exemplary understanding of life and death. Forty million people had died in the space of a day, forty million souls sent to be judged, elevated or condemned. Regardless of the circumstances of their demise or the purity of the spirits, forty million was still forty million and death was still the end. For a delicate process such a judgement to be interfered with on a whim…

Still, Mora was not one to act rashly.

He lacked a complete understanding of the magic that forged them but, God willing, he had a thousand years of omnipotence to uncover their secrets. Besides, the dragonballs had not been used in nearly a decade and even so, the strange current of energy he'd detected was a recent phenomenon.

Despite his reservations, he'd permitted Popo to gather them, a task which he'd accomplished promptly, but Mora had explicitly instructed him to abstain from using them until he could inspect them himself.

He collected one from the sack and inspected it.

It was fairly large and carved from a pearlescent gold material that was smooth to the touch. Each was decorated with a unique number of stars, obviously indicating some kind of order by which to lay them. Mora had been informed that the magical balls had been on Earth for more than a thousand years and had granted countless wishes so some wear and tear was to be expected.

He hadn't expected to see the surface riddled with cracks.

…

 _The air was thick, boiling with a demonic heat that choked the very atmosphere and baked the ground solid beneath him. It charred his throat and lungs with every breath and he hacked and wheezed with every breath._

 _His apparent victory felt like a broken body._

 _His ribs and lungs throbbed harshly but he swallowed his anguish._

 _He couldn't die, not now. Not while he could still sense them._

 _Not while this planet still lived._

 _It took every ounce of strength to pull his battered body to a knee and he coughed so violently his frame buckled. Blood and saliva splattered and evaporated on the smoking earth._

 _His skull throbbed, his jaw throbbed, his eye throbbed… his face was stained with sweat and blood. Much of it his own, most of it belonging to his soldiers and comrades._

 _The mixture streamed down his face, moistening the caked dirt and stinging his swollen eyes, drawing tears and making his nose run._

 _His commander… he'd been the first, the monster had torn his head clean from his shoulders with a savage grin that widened the cracks in his flesh._

 _Then he'd slaughtered the soldiers and city's inhabitants, millions of citizens and his finest fighters reduced to viscera and ash, and he'd laughed as he did it._

 _The wind still howled with the screams of the dying._

 _Those soulless eyes had danced with amusement as he'd repelled every one of his attacks._

 _Every. Single. One._

 _Effortlessly._

 _He had almost no equal, had the power to destroy entire worlds in the palm of his hands, and the monster toyed with him like a feline toyed with its prey._

 _Then he'd retaliated with earth-shattering blows that could rock cities from their very foundations and he'd mocked him as he did it; vivid proclamations in some guttural, unintelligible language._

 _It seemed like everything he did was focused on him._

 _Always him._

 _He'd punished the others but he'd taken particular pleasure in his anguish. Every blow, every death, every flair of his horrific power._

 _The power…_

 _That energy… that horrific, demonic ki that still lingered over the battlefield with an impossible potency, still bubbled over the cooked earth and cast the corpses and ruins in a decaying orange tint._

 _He'd never felt anything like it before. He'd never felt an energy that radiated pure malevolence and struck fear into his entire being._

 _It made him feel like prey._

 _Despite his disorientation, that ki still loomed over his senses. Even now, he felt like a calf staring into the looming jaws of a predator. Even now, every instinct screamed for him to run as fast as he could, to find shelter and hide._

 _And it was massive. Apocalyptic, there was no other word to describe its scale. Layers upon layers of energy, like no creature he'd ever encountered_

 _Fucking layers…._

 _His hands were stained in the blood of countless powerful warriors yet none of them had fucking layers of energy._

 _It had been sheer force of will that'd kept him fighting a near futile battle._

 _Lightning streaked across the blackened sky, illuminating the ruins and charred, mutilated corpses, and he remembered the energy waves and death beams that did absolutely nothing._

 _Errant streaks broke free from the clouds and shattered mountains and rock and he flinched, eyes wide, with every one._

 _Panic struck his features, his heart raced uncontrollably._

 _Thunder clapped loudly, booming across the landscape, and he remembered the unnatural force of the blows._

 _Pure unadulterated agony._

 _Volcanoes erupted in the distance, spewing ash and molten rock into the atmosphere, and he recalled the geysers of blood that had erupted when he'd torn his troops apart._

 _Clouds broke and acid rain washed the wasteland clean._

 _An explosion was imminent._

 _The death ball had been his last resort and he'd sent it careening into the planet's core, catching the monster by surprise and taking him with it._

 _Still grinning that same grin, laughing that same laugh that echoed in his mind._

 _But he had to be dead._

 _He'd given everything he had to force the colossal ball of concentrated energy through mile after mile of earth and rock. The force of the subsequent explosion had been collossal, the shockwave had hit like a wall and sent him soaring for miles, and the diameter of the crater was just incalculable._

 _He just had to be dead…_

 _Nothing survived the death of a planet, no matter how powerful._

 _Nothing._

 _He'd resigned himself to share the fate of this god forsaken place before he sensed them._

 _He struggled to stand, muscles quaking in exhaustion, vision cloudy and nauseatingly unfocused._

 _The pain that racked his form was almost phantom-like._

 _Another cough, more saliva, more blood staining his teeth, splattering to the ground and vaporising into the atmosphere, but he had to live._

 _He had to survive._

 _He could feel it again beneath the overwhelming potency of the monster's lingering ki._

 _The dead monster. He had to be dead._

 _Please be dead._

 _Please…_

 _His arm was broken, his ribs were broken, his eye socket, his jaw, his nose… his body quaked again. His leg was decorated in a vicious laceration, his chest and back were hot with burns._

 _His armour, moulded to fit him from some of the galaxy's densest alloy, had been smashed with one monstrous blow. An errant shard pierced a shallow wound in his side. Each movement tore the gash just that much wider, yet still he rose to his feet._

 _He still felt it, felt them._

 _He hacked, he coughed, he choked and he breathed. More blood, more burning. Fuck the planet, the exhaustion would kill him, he was sure._

 _And then the pain finally registered, oh God the pain._

 _Acid rain cut through his thick mane and bit his cheeks but he bit back his cries._

 _He could still feel them._

 _Unit fifty-four. His squadron were still alive._

 _It took two attempts to take off. The first saw him collapse pathetically to the cooked earth, upon the second he levitated shakily, slowly ascending through the rain that battered his armour and slowly undressed his scalp._

 _His thick mane became brittle and fell to the earth strand by strand._

 _He couldn't die now._

 _He couldn't._

 _Lightening illuminated the horizon, thunder echoed across the landscape. An otherworldly roar distorted the atmosphere itself and beckoned an ungodly earthquake and he was struck by a fleeting wave of panic._

 _His shaky flight became stern._

 _He moved like a hovercraft then a rocket, his tail flapping with his speed._

 _He could feel them fading and flickering._

 _Volcanoes spewed more ash and molten rock and lava burst from the ground itself, consuming all before it._

 _The ground below cracked and parted as hell itself forced its way to the surface._

 _It was happening._

 _No. Not now. It was too soon…_

 _But he was too late. Too slow. Too weak._

 _His limited vision was overcome with frustrated tears and he squinted at the blinding flashes as the planet breathed its last few breaths._

 _The air was rent with a horrific roar but there was an eerie absence of screams._

 _Then he felt it._

 _Despite his excruciating pain, that familiar well of power called out to him from deep within, begging to be unleashed. If only he could grasp it._

 _He reached for it and his aura flickered briefly… but failed._

 _His flight faltered and he plummeted before regaining altitude._

 _Then he reached for it again, grasping it shakily, and his peripheral vision became a blur as he accelerated with renewed strength, his pain was ruthlessly suppressed._

 _He felt the euphoric rush as his body was overcome with golden light._

Then he awoke, panic-stricken and convulsing as the electricity tore through his body.

His jaw clenched with unyielding force, his muscled contracted sharply, and he'd barely parted his lips for an anguished scream when his head napped back sharply from a vicious punch to the jaw.

Was it morning already?

Larz wasn't sure. They controlled his rest patterns, routinely inducing and depriving him of sleep with random combinations of sedatives and violence. He was becoming murderously sick of this routine.

The nightmares didn't help either, they only disrupted what little sleep he could manage and they'd become more frequent since he came to earth.

He glared groggily at his assailant, sickly and fatigued and sleep-addled. Ramirez was his name. His jailors had given no introductions but the build and iron-like gate were a dead giveaway that he was one of their Sky soldiers. Of all the captors that he'd encountered around the clock, Ramirez was always the most enthusiastic, always ready and willing to deliver a fist or a knee or flip the switch for the electroshock therapy.

He'd be the first to die when he escaped this place.

The soldier met the glare with a smirk and Larz had an immediate urge to put a fist through his head. His arms flexed weakly against his restraints, willing his cripplingly sluggish ki into action before he remembered the foam-haired cunt had suppressed it.

"Our patient is finally awake…"

His anger towards the soldier was immediately forgotten upon hearing that weak, withered voice.

Doctor Wheelo, the architect of his growing insanity… a pale, gaunt, middle-aged man whose frailty and ailing health belied his otherwise statuesque frame. Larz watched him intently as the sickly chief of staff hobbled towards him on artificial legs, shoulders sloped and leaning heavily on a walking stick. The doctor regarded him briefly with an inquisitive gaze, then his body convulsed violently as he couched into a white rag.

They'd figured out fairly quickly that his bastardised saiyan physiology made him resistant to nearly everything they could throw at him. Unfortunately, that had sparked Wheelo's… creativity.

The irregular sleeping patterns were his idea, clearly designed to rob him of any sense of control over his now pitiful existence. Other than that it was hard to pinpoint the Doctor's favourite torture methods. Sometimes it was dry drowning, other times it was actual drowning. Sometimes it was injections and forced ingestion of unknown substances, recently he'd become a fan of electroshock therapy.

Larz wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. It wasn't information or his death. Maybe he was an experimental subject, maybe not. It didn't matter either way, a dark voice reminded him. He would eventually break free and fracture the doctor's vertebrae one by one.

But for now…

After several prolonged minutes the doctor's coughs finally abated. The once white rag was now blood stained.

"Smith." He turned to his other assistant, a younger, healthier man. "Make a note that ten-thousand volts is sufficient to wake the patient, then stand by for observation." He then turned to his soldier. "Ramirez, set the voltage to twenty-thousand and stand by, we will commence session twenty-four shortly."

The soldier smiled. Another round of torture, Larz could do nothing but glare.

He never heard the order to flip the switch. As the electricity once again tore through his body, he decided Ramirez's death would be a painful one.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

 _First things first, thanks for the reviews. I can't say I'm 100% satisfied with this chapter. I planned on having a lot more dialogue, more content, and really getting the first arc going but after a ton of delays and hitting that 4,000 word mark I figured this would have to do. Either way I don't think it's terrible._

 _Secondly, I had a reviewer (Anonymous) ask me about power levels and past events in DBZ canon. First things first, I appreciate your concerns. To answer your questions, Cell does not exist in this timeline, only Android 13. I made a number of creative changes to the Android saga (which will be revealed as the story goes on) most of which were just personal preference and for the sake of plot but my main reason was Super Saiyan transformations._

 _In the series Super Saiyan went from being among the ultimate powers in the universe to an utterly meaningless transformation that even Goten and Trunks could achieve without experiencing any kind of hardship or overcoming any kind of obstacle. I also didn't like how transformation was the key to everything. I wanted to bring the first form back to relevance without relying on transformations all the time and truly establish it as the dominant force in the universe. I also wanted Don't worry though, power won't just flat-line._

 _With regards to Goku and Gohan, you're half right. Goku had just come back from space, he was exhausted and rushed straight into battle with a son he'd thought he'd lost forever. Gohan was basically in the right place at the right time. He's cunning and an opportunist by nature and if it wasn't for Vegeta he would've killed Goku. That being said, the difference in power is nowhere near as big as you might be thinking._

 _No Cell means no use of the Hyperbolic time chamber. Goku and the rest of the Z-fighters would progress at a much more natural rate and without the immediate threat of a villain to motivate them. This would make it much easier for Gohan to keep up with them, especially when you consider Gohan's extraordinary potential and the fact that he's NEVER experienced peace in his life. While Goku, Gohan and Vegeta are all now far more powerful than "basic" super saiyan, this growth would've occurred over a number of years._

 _Hope this answers your questions._

 _Barbosa._


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